Kelton was in the middle of his third turn at cutting for the day. Taggert had relieved Filgot and was returning from scouting ahead on foot. The sun had replaced the storm from the day before and heated the jungle with a vengeance, causing thick dampness to permeate the air. With it, came the smell of wet, rotting vegetation.
"Another stream ahead," Taggert announced. "The downslope is gentle enough, but the water is running deep. He held up the stick he was holding, a notch cut marked the depth. Almost knee-deep. The bleed from the storm was still draining away.
"How wide?" Kelton asked.
"I can jump it," Taggert said as he held his hands wide to indicate the width.
"Are the banks steep?"
"Nay, the water hasn't dug too deep into the hill. I think the wagons will make it without planks."
"Best if Filgot agrees," Kelton said. Taggert nodded in agreement and went to confer with Filgot. Borlin, who was usually teamed with Kelton, smiled at the exchange as he swung his blade.
"I wonder who he thinks is owner," Borlin whispered, adding a chuckle.
"I am teaching him to scribe, is all," Kelton said. "He and I both know my place."
"You do not have a place," Borlin said. He took a swipe at a thick bush and laid it flat. "Not like the rest of us. Even Master defers to your word."
"Master respects all," Kelton said and cut the vegetation in front of him. "He has drawn the line with me many times, as he has with all his property." Borlin smiled his disbelief at Kelton's words. Kelton was about to argue the point, silly as it was, when a feeling of being closed in came upon him. He stopped cutting and signaled Borlin to do the same. They stood quiet, only hearing the sound of the wagon movements far behind.
Kelton looked off into the trees, seeing nothing beyond what had become ordinary. He turned slowly, scanning up to the canopy and back down. It was an odd feeling, almost as if a shred of his sense of others had returned, yet nothing defined. What was devoid before, was now pushing at him. It felt thickest forward and weaker to the sides. Behind, his normal senses noted the sounds of his party, and that overwhelmed the fog of what he felt in the other directions.
"Why have you stopped?" Taggert asked. Both he and Filgot were coming upon them.
Kelton turned about again, then faced Taggert. He was sure though it was not perfectly defined. "We are not the only ones here." Filgot drew his sword with Taggert duplicating the movement as if they had practiced.
"Where?" Filgot asked.
"All about, more so to the front," Kelton said, pointing down the path.
"I do not see them," Borlin said, taking a few steps backward toward the wagons.
"Nor I," said Taggert, though he remained in a defensive posture.
Kelton closed his eyes and tried to feel out the oppressiveness that filled his mind. There was no definition, only a cloud of something surrounding them, like a smell that had no source. More of it weighted forward. "It is strongest there," he said, pointing forward again.
"Kelton, there is no..." Filgot began, then stalled as a figure silently emerged from farther down the path.
The woman moved with a grace usually seen only in animals, effortlessly missing the growing greenery and leaving no disturbance in her wake. She was lithe and taut, moving with determination. Short-furred leather was bound tightly to her body. The unknowing would think it sensual, yet Kelton recognized its purpose was to free the movements of a warrior. She reminded him of Yanda.
